The negotiation went unexpectedly smoothly. No matter how he'd imagined it beforehand, the boy hadn't expected Ramsmeat to be so reasonable—so much so that a whole stack of conditions he'd prepared never even came up.
It wasn't until he walked back down the stairs and saw Angoulême by the bar, hugging several money pouches she'd won and grinning ear to ear, that Victor finally felt it in his bones: it was really done.
The person talking to Angoulême was the Rose Knight, Siegfried. Victor stepped up, asked Griffarin for a small glass of cherry liqueur, then picked up the studded leather with iron plates from beside Angoulême and started putting it back on.
Seeing Victor armor up, the knight couldn't help laughing. "Come on. This is Vizima, and it's nighttime. There's no enemy here that you need to be this on guard against."
Victor didn't pause what he was doing. He kept smiling. "That habit is thanks to someone. Last time I went out without armor, he taught me a lesson I'll never forget."
Siegfried had no idea what he meant, so he could only shake his head. "Suit yourself."
Angoulême cut in with a face full of delight. "Hey, Vic, look! We won so much money!" She stacked the pouches neatly and pushed them in front of him.
"If you've got money, put it away already. Leaving it out like that—are you waiting for someone to come rob you?" She was smiling so wide her gums were showing; she definitely hadn't only bet a hundred orens.
Angoulême giggled. "Relax. With a Rose Knight here, no bad guy is stupid enough to try and mug us. I already talked to him—he's going to escort us back tonight."
Victor raised an eyebrow and looked at Siegfried. "Isn't that too much trouble for you?"
The knight lifted his own swollen money pouch and gave it a little shake. "Heh, it's fine. Thanks to you, I made a pretty good profit today too. Consider it public service."
Victor downed the cherry liqueur in a single swallow. "Then let's go. I'm finished with everything I needed to do here."
With his usual arms-crossed posture, Griffarin smiled. "Leaving already? I thought you'd want to stay and experience the charm of the Eager Thighs. A lot of pretty girls just sent word—they're waiting across the street for you to come over."
When you stepped out of the Hairy Bear Inn, the Eager Thighs was right across the road.
Victor smiled sweetly and replied, "Next time. Definitely next time."
He tied the money pouches together and stowed them in a leather bag. Then the Phantom Troupe—along with the Rose Knight—left the tavern together as a slightly odd trio.
…
Vizima didn't enforce curfew until after ten, so while there weren't many people on the streets at night, the three of them walking and chatting didn't stand out.
Their conversation was sprinkled with bright laughter. Victor found himself thinking that some people were simply born likable—people who carried a sincerity that wasn't carved down and held back by hardship the way his own was.
Siegfried's sincerity wasn't stupidity. He didn't need to be overly sharp. In that way he was a lot like Angoulême—though she was even stronger at it. She could blend in among dwarves or elves as naturally as breathing, without a hint of awkwardness.
"Hey, Vic," the knight said—yes, he was already using the nickname, as if it had always been that way. "You two got any work coming up?"
Victor was about to answer, but Angoulême beat him to it. "Bloodthirsty plants. We're heading south in the next few days to deal with bloodthirsty plants in the swamp forest."
"Good," Siegfried said, thumping his right fist into his palm. "A giant archespore is nasty work. Having a specialist handle it is a relief… but be careful while you're out there. Scoia'tael have been spotted nearby, and they don't fight fair."
Using Scoia'tael as a convenient bridge, Victor asked in a casual tone, "I've heard some of the Order's public speeches from a distance. Your 'Grand Master' seems to loathe nonhumans and hate Scoia'tael. Do you feel the same?"
Siegfried's expression stayed natural, his tone easy. "Ha! You must not have listened to the whole thing to get that impression. The Grand Master doesn't loathe nonhumans.
He has no prejudice against nonhumans—what he condemns is Scoia'tael. And just like the Grand Master says, I also believe Scoia'tael are parasites that do nothing but harm. Without them sabotaging us from behind, Nilfgaard couldn't act so brazenly in war.
I think a lot of people feel the same as I do—sympathy for the unfair treatment nonhumans are suffering right now. But Scoia'tael are burning through that goodwill fast, using murder, robbery, wrecking shipments… all of it.
No matter what race you're talking about, there are good and bad. But from what I've seen, what Scoia'tael do is beyond disgraceful."
When her companion started going on at length, Angoulême fell quiet out of habit. That was Vic's job; she had her own. Like right now, she had a faint, strange premonition.
"Mm… speaking of which," Victor said, "what kind of man is Jacques de Aldersberg? Why was he able to become the head of the Order of the Flaming Rose?"
The Rose Knight was delighted to answer. If it meant helping more people understand the Grand Master and winning more support for the Eternal Fire, he considered it his duty.
"Grand Master Jacques was originally a wandering knight. For many of us, his appearance was nothing short of a miracle.
A few months ago, the Order of the White Rose suffered an ugly internal split. The previous 'Grand Master' was tangled in a scandal that brought dishonor, and he had to step down in disgrace.
We knights lost our faith. We lost our direction. We thought we were serving the king, but in truth, many of the Order's higher-ups were deceiving the king.
And then Grand Master Jacques appeared. Have you heard of Ithlinne's Prophecy? The one about the wolf and the blizzard—he made many in the Order see a vision of the White Frost being brought to an end!
After witnessing that miserable future—the end of the world—the Order found faith again. We are going to become a force that warms the world, that carries civilization's flame forward. What we do is righteous."
"Uh… you really believe they saw what the White Frost looks like when it comes?"
"I don't know. I didn't witness it myself. But in Grand Master Jacques's words, I can feel his urgency, his effort, his unwavering will. So we gathered around him again and reorganized into the Order of the Flaming Rose."
"Tsk. What an unbelievable legend," Victor said. "A wandering knight appears before a collapsing Order, calls out once, wins everyone's recognition, and in no time binds a fractured White Rose into a new, radiant Flaming Rose. It sounds like the kind of epic tale you only hear from bards…"
"Hey! Victor, I respect you, so you need to respect me. I hear a faint hint of mockery in your words. I hope I'm imagining it."
"Alright. I apologize. Bell Town's education made me sharp-tongued about things I don't understand," Victor said, pressing a hand to his chest in apology.
"I accept your apology, because Prophet Lebioda says: we all need others' forgiveness too. We must help one another and get through every hardship together." Siegfried waved his hand generously to show it was nothing. "Once you've dealt with the giant archespore, I've got a commission I'd like to ask of you.
Also, if there's a chance, I hope you'll meet the Grand Master in person. He's the most honest man I've ever known. I believe that meeting him will change your mind—and you'll forget those pointless doubts."
Victor nodded in agreement, then stopped. They were now at the spot closest to the Order's headquarters—perfect for parting ways and heading home.
He said a few words to Siegfried, clearly a farewell. Angoulême's expression didn't change, while the knight's face showed a flicker of confusion—before he nodded and left.